


Shelter From the Storm

by AsteraceaeBlue



Category: Jurassic World (2015)
Genre: Danger, Dinosaurs, F/M, Post-Jurassic World, Survival, continuing story, will they won't they (they probably will)
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-08-07
Updated: 2017-10-05
Packaged: 2018-12-12 05:38:50
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 8,326
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11730615
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AsteraceaeBlue/pseuds/AsteraceaeBlue
Summary: Claire Dearing and Owen Grady are still trying to deal with the aftermath of Jurassic World and what the park did to their lives. They've moved on as best as they have been able, taking paths that give them as much normality as possible. When Owen gets a phone call that threatens everything, they must decide if they are willing to leave normality behind for a greater good.





	1. Chapter 1

 

Claire Dearing did not go to jail, and she was sure that for the rest of her life she would wonder why. She (along with others, people were quick to remind her) was responsible for dozens of deaths on Isla Nublar. She expected manslaughter; reckless endangerment at the very least. They could have easily convicted her.

There was no explanation for what kept those families and their lawyers from going after her or how she managed to land in the group of people who were considered heroes during the entire tragedy.

“Took all the right steps.”

“Saved countless more from dying with quick thinking.”

Those were the words that were used in court to describe her actions on that awful day.

Not that everyone saw it that way. Plenty in the media and grey-faced commenters on the internet called her every slur that was available in the English language, as well as some others. They blamed her, just as surely as they blamed Henry Wu and Hoskins and Masrani. She had to disable her wifi for nearly a month just to keep herself from falling down the black hole of internet self loathing.

Truth be told, she had a hard time not laughing when her lawyers tried to paint her as a hero. A real hero would have seen the travesty of what Masrani was attempting to do on that island. Would have stopped it before it had the chance to become the horrid monstrosity that would haunt her dreams for her remaining days.

In the end, the opinion of the public and the media, split though it was, had very little influence on the final decision of the court. They held Masrani and InGen responsible completely; everyone else was just following orders.

She hated that phrase, for so many reasons. Mainly because it let Wu off the hook, even though he’d been the mastermind behind the _Indominus rex_ , merrily mixing completely inadvisable DNA just to see what would emerge.

InGen settled, exactly one year and fifteen hearings after the “incident.”

They shelled out the down payment for her new apartment in San Francisco and pulled strings to get her new work as operations manager with a prominent art museum. When she met with the director for an informal interview, Claire was fully prepared to be met with hostility and skepticism. Who would want her after the events that tainted her life? Who would want that publicity?

As with many things, bad publicity was just as tempting as good publicity, and the museum was eager to have a genuine Jurassic World employee join their staff.

She liked the job. It involved paintings and statues, things that, ideally, never chased down the patrons or tried to eat them. Claire found she was a lot fonder of inanimate public entertainment than she had ever been.

Once the trial was over and Claire found herself back to a somewhat normal life once again, she had stupidly hoped that the nightmares and the panic attacks would stop. Without the constant barrage of the hearings and press hounding her in San Diego, she felt that the memories might dim. But even without the events being dragged before her every day, she still shook when a truck rumbled down the street too strongly and woke at night drenched in sweat, confused and terrified for minutes on end until she realized the massive teeth she was running from were all in her head. Her pajamas were on constant laundry rotation; she went through two pairs a night if she had any hopes of making it through the night not covered in perspiration.

“That’s why I sleep in the buff.”

Owen.

The only thing that kept her sane during all of it. The only person who understood, who didn’t look at her like she was a meal ticket or a disaster or the devil.

He went stir crazy in the hotel room InGen had provided within two weeks and simply used his savings to buy an Airstream, parking it as close to the beach as San Diego law would let him and as far from other people as he could get. It took Claire all of a week to pack her things and show up on his doorstep, more desperate for his company than she would like to admit.

For the longest time they just existed together, holding each other at night and trying to keep each other from falling off the edge.

It was sometime around month five of the trial that they sat at the little table nook in the camper, the windows open to the evening ocean breeze and the setting sun spilling orange light into the space, and the dance they hadn’t really been dedicated to came to a stop. Of course he was playing an old Bob Dylan record, because what else would Owen Grady listen to while drinking rum and Coke on the beach of Southern California?

_Lay Lady Lay_

Whatever they had been laughing at tapered off easily. He stood up and held out his hand. She took it without hesitation, but with a great deal of nerves. He danced with her, gently, singing slightly off key, his warm breath landing on the edge of her ear.

“When was the last time you felt something other than exhausted?” he asked her.

“I don’t remember,” she whispered back.

And then he was kissing her, oh so softly and lovingly, and she nearly lost it. Her fingers curled in his t-shirt and she was the one to push them back towards the bed. And, oh God, it had felt so good to just let go, to be loved, to feel the kiss of his lips on every _every_ part of her body, to run her hands all over his as he moved above her.

He moved to San Francisco with her. Sold the Airstream and kept his bike.

It turned out that the only jungle Owen Grady couldn’t handle was the urban kind, not even with Claire by his side. Or perhaps it was Claire he wasn’t able to handle – her, her new job, her priorities, any of it.

He didn’t exactly spell it out for her when he left after only six months.

 

*****

 

_Oh the weather outside is frightful, but the fire is so delightful…_

“How many versions of this song are there?” Claire asked Karen, trying not to sound too much in a Grinch-y mood.

“Depends, how many singers are there who need to sell Christmas albums?” Karen replied, pulling a steaming hot ham from the oven.

Claire chuckled, putting the finishing touches on the mashed potatoes. It was the only dish she had learned to master over the years, and she was pretty proud of the result. She watched Karen slice the ham with a practiced hand and transfer the beautifully cooked slices to a serving platter.

Her hands stilled in the middle of adding a garnish of chives to the potatoes. It was ridiculous, even if her therapists had told her it wasn’t, but she couldn’t bring herself to eat meat anymore. It just…left her nauseated.

“Boys, dinner’s ready!” Karen called out, grabbing the serving tray and walking it towards the dining room.

Claire followed dutifully, lifting the bowl higher as Gray came sprinting into the room and ducked past her to nab the prime seat at the table.

“Whoa, no need to race, we’ll save food for you,” she teased with a smile.

“He’s physically incapable of slowing down,” Zach said as he sauntered into the room, all grown up and knowing it. “He ate, like, twelve gingerbread men in the last hour.”

“Aunt Claire, sit by me?” Gray said, obviously choosing to ignore his brother’s joke.

“Sure thing,” Claire smiled, taking the seat next to him and adjacent to Karen. She glanced at the extra place setting. “Again?” she asked her sister quietly as the boys dug in and chattered about their new gifts.

“He’s always invited,” Karen said, just as quietly. “It would look bad if I didn’t at least put out a place.”

“But he never comes,” Claire said, trying to stay pleasant about it. “Christmas, Thanksgiving, Easter, fourth of July, birthdays, he _never_ comes.”

“He did before -” Claire shot her a look and the ‘before you broke up’ portion of the sentence was left unsaid. “Point is, I want him to know he’s still welcome here,” Karen said with a tone of finality on the subject as she reached for a bowl full of green beans. Her eyes landed on her boys and her face became serious. “I owe him a lot.”

Claire looked down at her empty plate and bit the inside of her cheek to keep her emotions in check. From the window of the guest room, Claire had watched the night before as Scott dropped off the boys, hugging them tight before saying goodbye. Karen could barely let them out of her sight without looking like she would never see them again, and Scott seemed to be suffering the same problem. She saw the constant worry, heard about the progress of therapy sessions, flinched every time Gray and Zach jumped at a weird noise, and knew it was her fault. No matter how many times Karen and Scott told her that they didn’t blame her for what had happened, she would carry this particular guilt the heaviest of all. If she’d been a good sister, a good aunt, if she’d been able to step away from her corporate persona for just one day… well, she couldn’t be certain that it would have stopped anything that day, but at least she would have been with them.

But Owen wouldn’t have. She never would have gone to get him to look at the _I-rex_. He would have been far away from everything, possibly excluded from helping by Hoskins altogether. It was impossible to say what would have happened if Owen wasn’t involved, but she was sure it would have been worse without him. Karen was right; they owed him a lot.

“Who wants veggies?” Karen asked cheerfully, breaking Claire out of her thoughts.

“Nope!” came the instantaneous reply from both boys.

They had barely begun to eat when the sound of a motorcycle grew louder outside the house. Claire froze. She looked up at Karen. Out of the corner of her eye she could see Gray and Zach grin at each other before their chairs screeched out from the table and they went running towards the door.

Karen gave her an almost apologetic look and stood up to go meet her guest.

Claire swallowed hard, feeling her hands shake every so slightly. Nerves? Anger? She wasn’t sure. It took a lot of strength to stand up and turn to look out the dining room window and onto the snow covered front yard.

And there he was, in all his action hero glory, blue jeans and black leather jacket, hugging her nephews like it was the most natural thing in the world. Zach stood a little taller and grinned like a fool, while Gray practically bounced around him, not quite grown out of being a kid. Owen tousled his hair and then looked up at the porch, at Karen, and smiled and waved as he walked towards the house.

He looked good. Tanned, healthy, his one-week stubble neatly trimmed.

Damn him.

Claire thought she was going to be sick. How was it possible to loathe and ache for someone so much at the same time? She hadn’t thought he would actually ever accept Karen’s invitation and now he was here and oh dear God what would she say to him?

 _Calm, Claire, keep calm_ , she told herself, trying the breathing technique her therapist had taught her. She straightened out her red cashmere sweater and smoothed a hand over her hair. _You used to run Jurassic World. You outran a T-rex. You can handle Owen Grady._

And then the door was opening and she could hear his voice as he talked to Karen, as deep and warm as she remembered.

“No, you’re just in time,” Karen was saying, leading the way into the dining room. “Dinner’s just on.”

Karen must have looked at her, but she didn’t notice. Instead, she locked eyes with Owen, the first time in a year and a half. It suddenly hurt to breathe.

He paused in the doorway while Zach took his jacket to hang up and Gray made himself comfortable at the table again, thrilled to finally have his hero at Christmas dinner.

“Claire,” Owen said, giving her the most minimal smile she’d ever seen.

“Owen,” she replied, mimicking his expression.

“Well, let’s eat, shall we?” Karen said, a little too loudly and cheerfully, ushering them all to the table.

 

*****

 

“You didn’t tell me how bad it was,” Karen said as she and Claire washed the plates and loaded the dishwasher.

Claire glanced over her shoulder at Owen and the boys, lounging in the den and playing new X-Box games with as much enthusiasm as three thousand calories of dinner and dessert would allow.

“What was the point?” Claire said. “It wouldn’t change anything.”

“I thought you two just… parted ways. Not the case, obviously.”

“He was the one who parted,” Claire said sadly, her hands stalling on the last few dinner plates. The warm, soapy water in the sink felt good on her hands. It put some feeling back into her. “When everything with InGen was over… I guess there wasn’t enough left for him to stay. Relationships based on trauma aren’t ideal.”

“Hm,” Karen replied, thinking over her words as she took the plate from Claire’s hand and slipped it into the dishwasher. “My marriage was based on Friday night dates at Tony’s Italian Restaurant and a joint bank account. Look how that turned out.”

Claire side eyed her sister. Karen shrugged.

“Just for comparison.”

“Did the boys have a good time with Scott?”

“They came back all smiles, but I have a feeling the brand new game console had a lot to do with that,” Karen told her, adding detergent before closing the washer and pressing start. She sighed heavily and leaned against the counter. “Never in my wildest dreams did I think my family would be doing two Christmases.”

“But you’re handling it,” Claire observed.

She knew that the events in Jurassic World were not enough to keep her sister and brother-in-law from separating, but it had served to put the important things into focus during the split:  the boys. It was done with as much decorum and love as possible, for divorce.

“The best we can,” Karen said, wiping her hands on a dish towel. She tossed the towel on the counter and peered into the living room to assess the state of her home. “We need more firewood, I think, it’s looking low.”

“I’ll get it,” Claire volunteered, needing a reason to step out of the house for just a few minutes.

“Thanks,” Karen said, rubbing a hand on her sister’s arm. “Back of the garage. The bag should be there.”

“Got it,” Claire said, tucking her hair behind her ears and heading towards the kitchen door.

She didn’t bother with a coat, knowing the garage would be cold but not quite as frigid as outside. When she stepped into the garage she was hit with the smell of mothballs and gasoline. Another sense memory that would never stop being tied to that island – the way she smelled gasoline on Owen for weeks after they got away, it just seemed to linger.

She shook her head, pushing the memory aside.

The firewood carrier was located and she started filling it, flicking the occasional spider away. By the fourth log, she was practically chucking the wood, muttering to herself.

“Shows up after a year and a half, no word, no warning,” she grumbled, tossing another piece on the growing pile. “Doesn’t even bother _asking_ if it’s okay.”

She threw the last piece and several chunks of wood splintered off, the entire pile tipping.

“Asking if what’s okay?”

Claire whirled around, instinctively reaching for the closest hard object, her heart jumping.

“Don’t _do_ that,” she chastised Owen. “You of all people should know not to sneak up.”

“Are we talkin’ just now, or today in general?” he queried, taking a few casual steps towards her and bending down to straighten the pile of wood.

Claire glared at him.

“Are you kidding me right now?” she demanded.

“Not trying to.”

“Owen,” she warned, gritting her teeth.

“O-okay,” Owen said, wiping his hands on his jeans and standing up. “We’re doing this the hard way.”

“What other way was there going to be?” she asked in disbelief. “How did you expect this to go?”

“I expected to accept your sister’s invitation after a year of her askin’ me and possibly get through the day without us shoutin’ at each other,” he responded, his brow lowering. “Maybe even be nice. Couldn’t have been more wrong there.”

Raking a hand through her hair, Claire closed her eyes and forced some composure into her body.

“I’m not _trying_ to fight with you,” she started. “But, you show up here, at my family’s house and act like you didn’t just abandon our life together - ”

“Hey, I was giving it my all,” Owen argued, pointing a finger at himself. “You checked out on me. You locked down faster than I could keep up with.”

“What?” she exclaimed, sure she wasn’t hearing him correctly.

“You were _Ms. Dearing_ again,” he elaborated, offended. “Schedules, appointments, hair straighteners. I was lucky if the last thing you looked at at night was me and not your damned iPhone.”

“Oh, I’m sorry, I didn’t know I was supposed to magically change who I am to please you and keep you happy,” she said, holding up her hands in mock apology.

“That’s not who you are.”

Claire scoffed.

“Not all of you, anyway,” he said, actually sounding like he was trying to clarify for her benefit. “Yeah, you’re itineraries and pressed suits and all that shit, but… damn, Claire, your water runs deep and I felt like…felt like I was losing you to all that _control_.”

“I’m sorry I needed to work to get back some normal in my life again. It felt _good_ to be busy,” Claire said insistently. “But I always came home. To you. I didn’t leave without a word.”

“I told you where I was going,” he shot back.

“Oh, yeah, sure, going to visit some Navy buddies in New Mexico for a ‘few weeks,’” she said sarcastically, using air quotes to emphasize her words. “Thanks for texting to say it ‘might be longer’ after that time was up.”

“Yeah, thanks for ‘answering,’” Owen replied, mimicking her air quotes. “‘Have fun.’ Boy did it sound like you missed me.”

“I did miss you,” Claire said hotly, close to shouting. Her words stopped him firm and he blinked, head cocking slightly to one side. In for a penny… “I missed you like _crazy_ , Owen. But you left. All we’ve been through, and you left…”

Owen shifted, his boots scraping on the cement floor, and he looked away from her. She hadn’t meant for it to be a low blow, but accusing him of abandoning her was sure to hurt his protective side.

“You had a career and a purpose again,” he shrugged, shoving his hands in his pockets. “What the hell did you need me for?”

“I needed you for…” Claire trailed off, grasping for a way to say all the things she needed from him and only him. “I needed _you_. Just…you.”

She saw him take a breath, his brow furrowing for a moment as he stared at her. She shifted uncomfortably.

“Claire? Did you get lost?”

Karen’s voice was muted by the partially closed door to the garage, but she sounded concerned.

“Uh.” Claire shook her head and gathered herself. “Yeah, I’m fine, Kar! Be right there.”

She looked to Owen again, waiting for him to be the brave one and say something.

“I told her I was getting my bags from the bike,” he said, avoiding eye contact. “Your sister was pretty insistent that I stay, and the boys were begging…”

Claire licked her lips and immediately regretted the involuntary movement.

“She makes a mean breakfast,” she managed to say.

Owen’s expression softened and she thought she saw a small smile.

“I’ll go get my stuff,” he said, backing towards the door and nodding once before heading out into the snow.

Claire stayed frozen for a few moments more, waiting for her blood pressure to drop to a normal level before grabbing the wood pile and heading back to the house.


	2. Chapter 2

Owen rolled his onto his back, trying to find a comfortable position on the couch. Karen had offered to shuffle the boys into one room and let him have an actual bed, but he’d refused. Truth be told, he’d slept in much worse places during his active duty tours. The couch was heaven compared to the metal benches of airplanes and warships where he had to catch a few winks when he had the chance. He sighed and reached behind him to fluff the feather pillow from Karen’s room. It wasn’t the couch that was the problem and he knew it.

It was the fact that the woman he’d spent the last year trying to get over was upstairs, asleep in the guest room. He wasn’t much for talking things out, but he would have been glad to grab another moment alone with her after their encounter in the garage. With the general Christmas celebrations, that chance hadn’t presented itself. Not to mention that he felt Karen watching them a little too closely and an attempt to get Claire alone would have drawn way too much attention. He was pretty sure Karen knew the whole stupid story anyway, but he wasn’t really eager to drag his personal issues out in the open in front of anyone but Claire.

She looked wonderful.

She’d barely changed, except for her hair. Longer, and allowed to wave naturally instead of being ironed straight every morning.

He sighed again and hauled himself up on his arms, flopping over onto his stomach.  His gaze settled on the glowing, colorful Christmas tree in the corner of the living room. The fairy lights played off of the glass ornaments and made the whole thing look like it was sparkling. Just barely in sight, Owen could see the shape of a small Apatosaurus in the lower branches of the tree. Probably Zach’s doing. Everything they’d been through hadn’t been enough to make the kid hate dinosaurs altogether.

They all seemed to be doing okay. Time was doing its thing to heal the worst of it. He woke less and less in the middle of the night, and it didn’t take as much time to figure out that he was safe in his bed and not running through the jungle. The things he saw that day would never leave him, just as sure as it would never leave any of them, but it got easier. There were a few things burned permanently. The _I-rex_ paddock operator looking at him before he was eaten. Blue staring at him with eyes that had way too much expression. Claire crouching beneath the legs of the _T-rex_ she had lured in to save them all.

That would never leave his brain.

He knew they had shut themselves in together in the aftermath and that is was probably an unhealthy reaction. Barry had even pointed out how secluded they’d become, and he’d been the one to goad Owen into asking Claire out in the first place way back when the park was running smoothly.

San Francisco hadn’t really been his idea of a place to settle down, but the thought of being separated from Claire had been way too much. So off he went, following her like a puppy. Six months into the situation and he had no job, no direction in life except living with Claire, and he found himself asking what the hell he was doing. He wasn’t exactly proud of how he handled things in the end, but there was no changing it now. She’d been so distracted, and, he thought, uninterested for so long…

What a smack in the face to hear that she’d missed him all this time.

His head lifted up off the pillow when he heard a creak on the stairs. Pushing himself up again, he turned and looked over the back of the couch.

Claire was standing on the stairs, one hand on the bannister as she looked at him apologetically.

“Sorry,” she whispered. “Was trying not to wake you.”

“S’okay,” he said, sitting upright and pushing the blanket off to the side. He stood up, pulling at his thermal shirt to straighten it out as he turned around to face her again. “I was already awake. Couldn’t really sleep.”

“Me neither,” she confessed, walking the rest of the way down the stairs and pulling her fluffy robe tighter around her. “I thought something warm to drink might help, so…”

“Couldn’t hurt,” he agreed, gesturing towards the kitchen.

She gave him a little smile and started walking. He followed.

Owen pulled the kettle from the stove and slipped the cover from the spout to fill it with water.  He watched Claire rustle through the hodgepodge of teas that Karen kept in the cupboard, pulling out a few selections of non-caffeinated brands.

“What’s keeping you awake these days?” he asked.

For most people, that question would have referred to normal worries - car payments, kids, what to make for breakfast the next day. But with them and a few hundred other people, it could be worse things.

“Nothing awful,” she said, pulling two mugs out. They clunked onto the counter. “Nothing … not what it normally is.”

He nodded, understanding. He shut the water off and set the kettle back to boil.

“You?” she asked, leaning against the counter and crossing her arms over her stomach.

“Uh,” he started, mulling his answer. “You know, a little about things … I mean, seeing the boys again it’s hard not to think about it.”

“Tell me about it.”

He smiled, almost feeling glad to hear her say that. It made it easier to know he wasn’t the only one still worrying.

“I think they might be doing better than we are,” he admitted.

“Sure seems that way. They’re resilient,” Claire agreed.

Owen nodded and they fell into silence while the water boiled. He suddenly didn’t know what to say to her, even though there were a million things on his mind. It was so damn weird, talking to her in the middle of the night like they used to do as though the past year and a half hadn’t happened.

“Did you really leave because … because you thought I cared about work more than you?” she asked quietly.

He sucked in a breath, feeling like total shit for having told her that.

“Claire, I wanna preface this by saying I made a dumbass choice the day I left,” he said honestly. “But yeah … yeah, it felt that way sometimes.”

“I didn’t know,” she said, looking up at him. “You could have told me.”

“In what world would that have gone well?” he asked with a wry smile.

“What is that supposed to mean?”

Owen sighed, running his fingers through his hair and mussing it.

“You thrive off of that shit, Claire,” he told her. “And you’re damn good at it. How was I supposed to … What you said was right. I couldn’t ask you to change who you are.”

“And you didn’t like who that was, did you,” Claire said flatly. Before he could answer, the tea kettle started to whistle and Claire reached over to flip the burner off and pull it from the stove. “That’s fine. I wasn’t too crazy about the return of macho lone wolf Owen Grady either, so I guess we’re even.”

“Macho lone wolf…” Owen trailed off in bafflement, watching her pour the steaming water into their mugs. “Really?”

Claire gave him a sidelong glance and raised an eyebrow.

“Please,” she said. “You’re a few missed haircuts away from howling at the moon. Watching you in that city was like watching a caged animal.”

“Oh, that’s a nice stereotype.”

“Right back at you.”

The hot water steeped their tea and silence filled the kitchen.

“We really aced this, didn’t we?” Claire muttered.

Owen shoved his hands into the pockets of his sweatpants, looking down at the tile floor.

“It wasn’t a bad effort overall,” he said. He smiled, thinking about some of the better … more nocturnal moments. He glanced up and found her watching him, a disapproving smirk on her face. “What?”

“Grady, you’re so transparent,” she chastised, picking up her mug of tea and walking towards the table.

“What?” he repeated, following.

“Gimme a break, you know what,” she said, turning suddenly and taking him by surprise. She poked a finger at his chest. “Just because some stuff was good -” Owen raised an eyebrow. “Fine, mind-blowing. That doesn’t mean it was a good fit.”

Owen’s expression changed, doubt filling him for the first time since their encounter in the garage.

“Still mad about the board shorts?” he tried joking.

“Owen,” Claire sighed, her pointed finger relaxing as she pressed her hand gently against his chest.

Her hand felt warm against him and he suddenly regretted every day of the past year and a half spent in the desert. Before he could think too much about it, he reached up and covered her hand with his, hoping she wouldn’t pull away too quickly. For a second, it felt like she swayed a bit closer to him, her eyes locked on his hand.

“Claire, you’re the best fit I’ve ever found,” he murmured, his other hand tentatively encircling her waist.

“You have a funny way of showing it,” Claire replied, turning her hand over and lacing her fingers in his.

“I’m sorry I left,” he told her. “I know we promised…”

“Stick together,” she finished for him.

“Not gonna happen again.”

Claire looked up at him, her pale blue eyes assessing. He could tell he hadn’t exactly won her over, but at least she didn’t look at him like he was the worst mistake she’d ever made.

He pulled in a breath to say something, the thought half formed in his head, when he heard his phone start to ring in the living room. They both turned their heads towards the noise, equally confused.

“How many phone calls do you get at one in the morning?” she asked.

“None,” he answered, reluctantly dropping her hand and stepping away from her.

He walked cautiously back to the couch and plucked his phone from the cushions where he had stuffed it. The screen blasted Barry’s name in the dark. Owen felt his stomach drop. Barry called on occasion to check in on them and catch up with life from his new position with Animal Kingdom in Florida, but it was always during normal business hours. Sometimes texts would be sent during a particularly entertaining night out, but the middle of the night?

He slid his thumb across the screen and lifted the phone to his ear.

“Barry, what’s up?”

“Owen, you need to get in touch with Lowery as soon as you can.” Barry’s voice came through alert and intense.

“What the hell is going on, man?”

“He left me a message about the live count report from the island,” Barry told him. “Something’s off.”

“What do you mean something’s off?”

Claire was walking closer to him, her eyes taking on a wide-eyed concern he hadn’t seen in over two years. He was pretty sure he had a similar expression on his face.

“I don’t know,” Barry said. “He just said something’s off and that you need to call him.”

“Thanks Barry, I’ll let you know as soon as we know something,” Owen said, intending to hang up.

“We?” Barry repeated.

“Uh,” Owen hesitated, looking at Claire. “Yeah, you know, me and you, as soon as we know something.”

Barry laughed.

“I knew you couldn’t stay away, man,” he said.

Owen turned slightly away from Claire and scratched the back of his head.

“I do not know what you’re talking about and there seem to be bigger issues right now,” he said casually.

“You at her sister’s house?”

“Bye Barry,” Owen snapped, hanging up on him. He let out a breath and almost forgot the reason for the phone call for a moment.

“Owen?”

Claire’s voice was thin and quiet.

“What do you remember about the live count agreement?” he asked her, scrolling through his contacts to find Lowery.

“No extermination except in circumstances of danger to the public, live counts every three months to determine growth or decline of the population,” she recited from memory, practically verbatim from the legal documents.

“So what could be such an emergency about that?”

“If it was an escape, we would have heard about it from official channels,” Claire reasoned, propping her hands on her hips. “The population die-off evened out about a year after evacuation. Any asset that couldn’t survive the enzyme production mutation died already in accordance with the contingency. There shouldn’t be a mass die-off unless something happened…”

Lowery’s phone rang and Owen put his cell on speaker.

“Owen, thank God,” Lowery answered.

“What’s going on, Lowery?” Owen cut to the chase.

“I just got the live count report. We’re missing Blue.”

Owen froze.

“She’s dead?” he managed to ask.

“Uh, well,” Lowery hemmed. “We’re, we’re not sure.”

Claire made a face at the phone.

“How can you not be sure if she’s dead or alive?” she said.

“Claire? Is that you?” Lowery asked.

Owen watched her shift uncomfortably.

“Yeah, it’s me,” she answered, putting an awful lot of her professional confidence into the words.

“Did you two get back toge-?”

“Focus, Lowery,” Claire ordered.

“Right, sorry. So the thing is, her tracker hasn’t moved in a few months so we sent in a drone for visuals. The tracker’s been removed, no sign of a body.”

“And when was the last time someone actually saw Blue?” Owen asked

“A year ago.”

“A whole fucking year? What happened to visuals every three months?”

“I don’t know, they said they were doing it, I was getting the reports and everything looked on the up and up.”

“What changed?” Owen asked, shifting his weight and crossing one arm over his chest.

“I think they messed up and sent the real data this time. We asked for recaps of the last three counts and it doesn’t match the original reports. They claim it must have been an oversight, but, you know, we’re talking about tracking an island full of dinosaurs, somehow I don’t think that excuse is going to fly.”

“Jesus,” Owen swore. “What do we do?”

“They’re requesting a transect count,” Lowery explained to them. “I just got the notification an hour ago. Live, in person ground count.”

“Let me guess,” Claire said. “InGen is hand selecting people to make them look good.”

“You nailed it,” Lowery told her. “But there is an opportunity to keep them accountable…”

Owen looked at Claire and could tell she was one step ahead right with him.

“Who’s sending in the independent team?”

“BioSyn,” Lowery said after a moment.

“Are you kidding me?” Claire exclaimed.

“No fucking way,” Owen spat out at the same time.

“How do they even have the right to do that?” Claire asked in disbelief.

“They’ve rebranded themselves as a biotech company with interests in environmental stewardship over the last decade or so,” Lowery said with obvious contempt. “They’re presenting their team as an objective third party with interests in maintaining environmental stability in the event that an asset has escaped the island.”

“Give me a goddamn break,” Claire scoffed. “They’ve been trying to get ahold of InGen’s patents since before the first park.”

“Yeah, well, their line worked,” Lowery told them. “And they’re your only ticket onto that island since you’re out with InGen.”

“How’s that?” Owen said.

“They offered to let you be a part of their team.”

“Under what conditions,” Claire demanded.

“So far?” Lowery said. “None.”

Owen and Claire exchanged glances, neither of them buying it.

“We didn’t even say we were interested,” Owen told him.

What was happening concerned him; InGen going back onto the island was even more concerning. But the thought of stepping back onto that piece of earth under the employ of BioSyn left his skin cold. And he just knew that if he went, Claire would be right there next to him if she had her say.

“Well you’ve got two days to decide,” Lowery said. “They’re sending a plane down to Costa Rica on Thursday and the boat’s going out on Friday morning.”

“Thanks, Lowery,” Owen muttered. “We’ll be in touch.”

He hung up and tossed the phone onto the couch, running a hand over his mouth. His adrenaline was already spiked about a hundred times from the phone call alone. He didn’t know what was going to happen if he actually went back to the island. Huge green leaves and dark shadows never quite left the back of his mind. Teeth and blood and screaming were an occasional nighttime terror in recent months, but when they did appear they had him reeling.

But something was terribly wrong. InGen or Masrani, or both, had been lying. At the very least, they were covering some serious shit up. Every report up until that point had showed Blue and the _T-rex_ keeping to their own sides of the island, apex predators keeping their space. There was nothing else there to chew Blue up and spit out the tracker. If it had been removed without leaving any trace of Blue herself, something else was going on.

“Are you going back?”

Owen started. It wasn’t Claire who had spoken.

Both of them turned towards the stairs.

Gray was sitting on the steps, his face just visible between the railings.


	3. Chapter 3

Claire’s brain worked hard to process not only the information they’d just received from Lowery, but the fact that Grey had overheard everything.  There was a small possibility he’d only caught the last part of the conversation. But it was a very small possibility.

“Grey, sweetpea, what are you doing down here?” she said, hoping to buy herself a little time to figure out a way to answer him.

“I couldn’t sleep,” the boy said, standing up and gripping the banister. “And then I heard voices.”

“Why don’t you go on back up and try to get some sleep,” Owen suggested. “We can...talk about things in the morning.”

“Please don’t go back,” Grey pleaded, his eyes becoming wide with concern.

Claire glanced at Owen, looking for help. He seemed just as torn about what to say as she felt.

“We don’t know if we’re going to,” she said carefully.

“But you might,” Grey accused.

“We might have to,” Owen admitted. “People might be up to some bad stuff on the island, Grey. Someone needs to stop them if they are.”

“Can’t someone else do it?” Grey asked. “Why does it have to be you?”

This time, Owen glanced at Claire. She bit her lip, hesitating.

“Why don’t we talk about it in the morning, when we’ve all had a chance to calm down and think,” she said, trying Owen’s line one more time.

Grey looked at her, then Owen, his expression filled with betrayal.

“Whatever,” he muttered, turning from them and stomping up the stairs.

They heard the door to his room shut. Claire had half expected him to slam it and was grateful he didn't. She didn't need the whole household waking up to find out what was going on.

"Boy, he's really got that teenage thing down already," Owen commented dryly. 

"He's upset," Claire reasoned. She continued to look up the stairway, hesitating. "Maybe I should go talk to him."

She started to walk towards the stairs, but stopped when she felt Owen's hand on her arm. He shook his head.

“He’s not going to want to understand it, especially if we don’t have a real answer for him yet.”

Claire looked at him, her eyes scanning his face for any hint of what he was thinking.

“Aren’t you decided?” she asked quietly.

Owen’s blue eyes flicked to meet hers and she felt his hand drop from her arm.

“I’m not eager to go back, if that’s what you want you’re asking,” he said.

Claire let out a heavy breath and closed her eyes. She knew from the moment she heard that Blue was missing that he wouldn’t be able to turn down the opportunity to see his raptor safe. And she couldn’t blame him. As much as the thought of returning to the island terrified her, if InGen was trying to cover up some shady behavior, they had to get to the bottom of it. She wasn’t going to let that company ruin any more lives.

It made her palms sweat and her heart beat uncomfortably fast just thinking about that island...the heat, the smells, the sounds…

Suddenly she was being pulled into Owen’s arms and she immediately wrapped her arms around his waist, holding tight.

“Stay with me, Claire,” he whispered, repeating words he’d whispered to her in the middle of the night in his Airstream in San Diego and her apartment in San Francisco.

Sometimes he said it when she was waking from a nightmare, screaming his name or the boys’ names while the vision of them being eaten faded from before her eyes. Sometimes he said the words in a plea when it was his demons haunting the night.

She so desperately missed those words and desperately needed them.

“I’m with you,” she said, her mind clearing slightly. “I’m okay. I’m here.”

“Fuck, Claire,” Owen swore under his breath. “How are we gonna do this?”

“I don’t know,” she breathed, voice quaking a little. “But we have to...don’t we?”

“I think we do.”

Claire turned her face into his chest, breathing a little too deeply and trying to remind herself that barely twelve hours before she was still upset with his very existence. Nothing brought everything into focus like a little life and death work request.

“What do you think they’re doing down there?” she asked.

“No idea,” he muttered. “But if they’re hiding things, it can’t be good.”

“Mm,” she hummed in agreement. 

Despite wanting to continue benefitting from the support of his body, Claire gently pulled away from Owen.

“I think I need to get back to bed,” she said softly. “I’m going to need to get a little sleep if I have any hope of explaining this to my sister in the morning.”

“That’ll be a fun breakfast,” Owen said, his hands lingering on her hips. He hesitated, glancing at the couch before looking at her. “You can...stay down here if you need to.”

“Owen,” she started, her hands running lightly over his arms before landing on his hands. “I’m going to have enough to explain to her, I don’t need to add that to the list.”

“What exactly did you think she’d find in the morning?” he inquired with a bit of a sparkle in his eye.

Claire leveled her gaze.

“Reel it in, Grady. We’ve got some work to do,” Claire said with a half-hearted smirk. She rubbed her arm for a moment and contemplated the idea of heading back up to the dark guest room, alone. It wasn’t appealing, but she couldn’t just curl up on the couch with him...not yet. “I’ll survive on my own for one night, okay?”

“I might not,” he said with a small smile. 

He sounded like he was joking, but Claire knew enough to understand that he really might not be okay alone after the news they’d received.

“I’ll leave my phone on,” she told him, delicately removing his hands from her hips and giving them a squeeze before letting go. “Text.”

“Right,” Owen said, somewhat dejectedly. He let out a heavy sigh and stepped back from her. “Night, Claire.”

*****

Owen never messaged her.

He either handled the night better than she did or he never fell asleep. If his mind was working at all like hers, it was the latter.

She tried, knowing the next day would be awful with no sleep, but every time she closed her eyes she kept imagining teeth...blood. Sometime before dawn she gave up and got out of bed, wrapping herself in her robe and just sitting in the chair by the window. She watched the snow come down until it became light outside.

When she heard the door to Karen’s room open and her footsteps in the hall, she knew the inevitable was approaching. She pulled on what strength she could manage and headed out of the guest room.

Owen was already in the kitchen when Claire walked in, and the smell of freshly brewed coffee filled the room. He caught her eye from his perch at the island counter, his large hands wrapped around a steaming mug of black coffee. Karen turned and smiled at her.

“Morning,” she said cheerfully as she poured herself a cup. “You two are up awfully early, I’m usually the only one downstairs until at least nine. Did you sleep alright?”

“Couch was great,” Owen offered sincerely. “Comfy.”

“Oh good,” Karen said with another smile. 

She lifted the coffee pot and looked at Claire with raised eyebrows. Claire nodded silently.

Inside, she was starting to panic. She would have to stand there and tell her sister that she was going back to the island that almost killed her boys, that almost killed her. What explanation would she have for it?

She accepted the mug from Karen and immediately reached for the cream and sugar on the counter. Her eyes met Owen’s. His mouth was set and he looked like he was trying to assess how she was about to proceed.

They needn’t have bothered trying to silently communicate what they were going to say - out of the corner of her eye, Claire saw Grey step into the doorway of the kitchen, still looking like a little kid in his rumpled, oversized t-shirt and sweatpants. He looked at her from beneath his moppish hair before looking towards his mother.

“When is Aunt Claire leaving?” he asked.

Karen looked up in surprise, letting out an amused laugh.

“Grey, what kind of thing is that to say? You love having her here,” she said.

“So...you’re not going back?” Grey asked Claire, some of the resentment lifting from his face.

Karen looked between the two of them, confusion evident.

“You’re not going back to California?” she said slowly, obviously wondering if she was hearing things right.

“Not California,” Grey told her. “The island.”

A heavy silence filled the room and Claire was certain that time had stopped. She could hear her heart thudding in her ears while she waited for Karen to react.

Her sister very slowly returned the coffee pot to the counter. She leaned onto one hand on the granite countertop and stared at the ground. 

Claire was very suddenly reminded of being in serious trouble with her mother as a child, waiting for the punishment to rain down on her.

“What is he talking about, Claire?” Karen asked in a low voice.

“We...got a phone call last night,” Claire choked out, holding tight to the coffee mug. “There might be an issue we need to check out.”

“Grey, please leave,” Karen ordered.

“But mom - ”

“Grey, now.”

There was no room for argument in her tone and Grey looked between Claire and Owen for support before finally deciding to back out of the room.

“What could possibly be serious enough that you would consider going back to that place?” Karen demanded when she was sure that her son was out of earshot. “Do you remember what happened? You almost  _ died _ ! What the hell is wrong with you?”

“They lost track of an asset,” Claire explained, finding her footing. “And they’ve been lying about it.”

“So fucking what,” Karen spat out, and Claire flinched at the language. “That’s their problem, not yours. You don’t work for them anymore.”

She directed half of the remark at Owen and Claire saw him shift in his seat.

“We have an opportunity to make sure they aren’t continuing with the project illegally,” he added.

Karen’s jaw worked and she stared him down. He cleared his throat and glanced around before settling on looking at the cup between his hands.

“Is this why you finally showed up?” she accused. “Because of this whole thing, getting Claire to go with you?”

“No, Karen, absolutely not,” Claire jumped to his defense. “We just got the call. I was standing right there when he found out.”

Claire watched her sister’s gaze drop to the floor, then she turned away from them and clamped a hand over her mouth. She immediately set down the coffee mug and went to Karen, wrapping her arms around her shoulders.

“Why?” Karen pleaded. “Why do  _ you _ have to go back?”

“No one else is going to hold them responsible,” Claire said softly, trying to make herself believe her own words. 

Karen held onto her, her shoulders heaving.

“Dammit,” she said, voice shaking. “Why do you always have to be so brave?”

Claire laughed.

“I’m nowhere close to brave,” she said.

“A martyr, then,” Karen sniffed, pulling back and taking Claire’s face in her hands. “You always were the adventurous one.” Claire smiled weakly and held her gaze. “ _ Promise _ me…”

She didn’t finish the sentence.

“Promise, Kar,” Claire said firmly.


End file.
